Dark Queen - Ker Dukey Page 0,34

all staring at me.

Pushing through the door to the back, I overhear raised voices from the staff room and know it’s my ballerina.

Going to the door, I listen, gritting my teeth when I hear Simon’s voice. “You can’t get involved with him, Alyssa. You saw what he is—what he did.”

A smashing sounds, something being slammed down.

“And he was the only one who actually did something! I sure as shit didn’t see you coming over to interfere and tell that perverted, disgusting asshole he couldn’t talk to me that way.” She’s angry, her voice breaking.

“I was getting a replacement bottle,” he tries to justify. In reality, he’s a weak boy—she needs a man.

“He didn’t deserve another bottle,” she hollers. “You should have told him to leave.”

Feet shuffle about.

“That’s not my place, I don’t have authority for that.”

“You mean backbone,” she sneers.

I step back as the door swings open. Her eyes clash with mine, the green glistening bright through a sheen of tears.

Her cheeks are flushed. Those fat lips of hers are pouty and in need of kissing. I need her out of my goddamn system—I need her out of here.

“I know you didn’t do it for me, but thank you all the same,” she tells me, her brow dipping low.

I want to grab her and tell her it was for her, push her into that room and force Simon to watch me claim her. Instead, I summon the bastard in me and jerk my chin.

“You need to be more careful when pouring drinks, it seems. Consider this a warning. One more discrepancy—and you find a new place to work.”

Her bottom lip quivers for a second before she schools her features.

I’m an asshole, but it’s necessary, if Simon is warning her to stay clear of me, he must have noticed the attention I pay her, and that’s not good for her.

Straightening her shoulders, she nods. “I understand, Mr. Leto.”

Round and round, Alyssa’s image plays in my damn mind. It’s a compulsion. I can’t concentrate.

Never in my thirty-two years of life has a woman had such an effect on me. All I want to do is claim her. Not allowing myself the indulgence of fucking her is making me stir crazy.

Once Serena’s killer has been dealt with, I’ll be able to relax and take what I want. After a week of making her sore, she’ll be out of my system.

A knock on my office door draws me from my thoughts. “Sir,” Thomas says as he enters, placing a memory stick in front of me.

“There was nothing unusual or worrisome about Simon Greene.” He adds a folder to my desk. “The reports pulled when he was first employed were thorough, and not much has changed. I put everything there is to know in the folder, he’s bland.”

Picking up the stick, I place it in my jacket pocket and swap the folder for a photo taken from the security camera of the man whose face I broke today.

“I need everything you can get on this man. I have to know if he’s a problem that needs to permanently go away.” I lean back in my chair, my intense stare telling him everything he needs to know.

“I understand, sir.” Nodding, he slips the photo into an envelope and leaves just as Marcello enters.

“What the hell happened?” Marcello asks, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, referring to the empty bar.

Narrowing my gaze, I grate out, “Alyssa happened.” I get to my feet and take the few steps to where he’s standing, meeting him toe to toe. “She has to go.”

“We have to go,” he counters. “I got us the meeting with the Blaydon brothers. They know it was Antonio who set the fires.” He slaps his hand down on my shoulder. “Are you sure we don’t go the fuck you route?”

Releasing an exasperated breath, I shake my head. “No. Let’s try to calm the waters without getting our hands dirty. We have enough light shining on us right now.”

Sitting opposite these men in one of their clubs is slumming it.

How they got their hands on real estate within blocks of my club is questionable.

The red leather and poor lighting makes the place look like a cheap diner with stripper poles.

It’s a shame Antonio didn’t burn this one down.

The brothers are similar is stature and appearance. Short and stocky. Hair that’s been bought and badly plugged. Over-tanned skin with bright veneers.

They both busy themselves with a tray of cigars. I shouldn’t be here giving them my time, but